


I Second That Emotion

by CapedCommissioner (smittenbritain)



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Background John/Guy, Bruce is briefly an asshole, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I've taken creative liberties with GL lore, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smittenbritain/pseuds/CapedCommissioner
Summary: Hal’s report is simple. The Guardians tried to make some upgrades to the Central Power Battery, and they went awry. All Green Lanterns are, currently, at the mercy of their emotions - ones that are, in fact, amplified by that fuck-up with the Power Battery, and perfectly visible through the rings.Barry decides to keep him company while he's under lockdown, and Hal's ring decides to force his heart onto his sleeve.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hal Jordan
Comments: 54
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was absolutely inspired by a brief little moment in the Injustice 2 game during Hal's chapter, where the ring flickers red for a moment. I figured I'd fuck around with Lantern lore a little bit and go well, what if he was stuck with his emotions on display? And then I wrote this in a frenzy!
> 
> Title is from 'I Second That Emotion' by Smokey Robinson & The Miracles!
> 
> Just in case anyone isn't as familiar with the Lantern spectrum, here is a quick reference for what they represent:  
> Green - Willpower  
> Yellow - Fear  
> Pink - Love  
> Red - Anger  
> Orange - Greed  
> Blue - Hope  
> Purple - Compassion
> 
> Batcest/incest shippers do not interact.

It starts in a meeting - a debriefing, to be precise, one fraught with tension and the kind of post-fight energy that leaves them all jittery. Barry bounces his knee restlessly under the table, Arthur shifts uncomfortably as he waits to go back to Earth’s oceans, and Hal and Bruce are practically growling at each other. All in all, it’s a _mostly_ normal meeting.

The difference is, Hal never gets _this_ worked up.

Barry watches him carefully, frowning at the tight lines of Hal’s shoulders, his jaw, his _fist_ where it’s curled at his side. He can’t recall a time when he’s ever seen Hal this genuinely _angry,_ not even in the early days of the League when there were more than a few wrinkles to iron out with all of their clashing personalities. In those days, Hal was sarcastic and blunt - and he still is, really, but in a way that tends to make even Bruce crack a smile rather than a snarl.

Now, though, Bruce’s nostrils flare. “Hal,” he says quietly, dangerously, “you need to calm down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down,” Hal spits, taking a step closer. “What, you think just because you tell us what to do in the field sometimes means you can tell me to-”

Abruptly, time shifts for Barry without his permission, his brain working faster than he can think in response to something he doesn’t quite see at first. It’s not an uncommon feeling - it’s happened plenty of times on the streets of Central while his conscious mind catches up to his subconscious - but it’s still strange, and the air around him feels thick like molasses. 

The seconds slow for just a moment, just long enough for him to see Hal’s ring flash red. 

Barry shoves his chair back from the table with a screech of the wheels as time snaps back into place.

“Hal,” Barry says, quiet but firm. “Your ring.”

Hal blinks. His shoulders slump, his anger dissipating. “What about my ring?”

Barry knows the Lantern spectrum by heart - they _all_ do. Red is rage, and it’s not hard to connect the dots: Hal is angry, and his ring is reflecting that. 

But why? Hal is all about willpower, _determination,_ the stubbornness to get things done. He’s a dog with a bone at the best of times, worrying it until he’s got every last thing he can out of it, chasing down whatever clue he needs until it finally gives up. It’s why he’s a _Green_ Lantern, not any other colour; they’d spent more than enough nights in Hal’s quarters, sat on the floor and sharing snacks as they idly discussed the matter, and Hal had dismissed the idea of being any other colour without much thought. 

“If you ask Bruce,” Hal had said, “he’d say it’s because I’m _too headstrong_ or _single-minded_ or whatever. It’s not even an _emotion,_ it’s just about being difficult as fuck.”

“I think it’s impressive,” Barry had admitted, and Hal had carefully looked away as his cheeks tinged pink.

Determination is Hal’s default. Even when he and Bruce argue, he’s rarely angry like _this._

Now, when Barry looks at his ring, it’s his usual green again - glowing, yes, but not dangerously so. It’s just the normal, steady kind of light he expects when Hal’s wearing his Lantern uniform. 

And yet, as he watches, it wobbles, and yellow threads in.

Barry nods at him. “Look. It was red a minute ago, when you were yelling at Bruce.”

Hal glances down, and as he physically recoils from his own hand, the rest of the green gives way. His ring pulses an ugly yellow, insistent, growing stronger as the seconds tick by, thick and sticky and slow with concern. 

When Hal meets Barry’s eyes again, he looks _terrified._

“I have to go,” he says, turning on his heel. He covers his ring with his left hand, smothering the glow and hiding it away against his chest. “Carry on without me. I need to make some calls.”

Barry bounces on his toes, itching to chase after him, but he stays put. If Hal’s cutting himself out here, he’s already got a plan in motion - hopefully not one as foolish as flying out to Oa this very second, and the mere thought of Hal doing that while his ring is apparently this unstable makes Barry’s stomach clench uncomfortably - and Barry won’t begrudge him his privacy to work things out. It doesn’t matter that he wants to gently grab him by the shoulder and promise him that everything is okay.

Bruce, however, doesn’t seem to get the memo. “Hal,” he says in a way that’s almost _gentle_ for him, “are you-”

“Just-” Hal cuts himself off with a harsh breath through his nose. “I’ll report back.” 

The doors _whoosh_ closed behind him, and Barry can still feel the itch of the yellow light at the back of his eyes.

* * *

Hal buries his face in his hands with a sigh. “So we’re fucked, is what you’re saying.”

Guy’s projection slumps back in his chair. He folds his arms, his lip curling with distaste. _“Pretty much,”_ he huffs. _“Just gotta wait this out.”_

“Fantastic,” Hal grumbles. The projection flickers red at the edges, and he shoots a glare down at his ring as anger bubbles up in his chest. He swallows hard to try and press it down, but it clogs in his throat, digs its claws into his lungs to take root there, and _Jesus Christ_ is this really how the Red Lanterns feel all of the time? Hal already misses the way willpower just makes him his normal self, and it’s barely been an hour since the first hint that something was wrong.

_“How’s it treating you so far?”_ John asks, pulling up a chair next to Guy. _“Has it settled for you yet?”_

“Settled?” Hal frowns. “What do you mean?”

_“Looks like it picks one to work with,”_ Guy says. He jerks his thumb back at his own chest. _“I got fuckin’ orange. Orange! Why the hell did I get orange?”_

The corner of John’s mouth twitches. _“You know why.”_

_“Don’t remind me about the cheeseburger,”_ Guy groans, dragging a palm down his face. _“Seriously, man, I don’t think I can take it. Can’t even fly home to grab one.”_

Hal bites back a snort, and to his relief, his ring eases back to its normal vibrant green. “You’re orange because you’re hungry, Guy? Seriously?”

_“Shut up.”_ Guy grimaces. _“You would be too if you were stuck on Oa until this shit gets fixed.”_

Okay, that’s fair. Hal doesn’t want to imagine what that would be like. At least here, on the Watchtower, he has all the usual comforts of home, including Earth food. Hell, if he wants, he could just step on the right pad and go straight back to Coast, though he’s willing to bet that Bruce will have something to say about keeping him in one place for now while his ring is so temperamental. He’s not fond of the idea of being a prisoner in space, but at least he has an internet connection.

“Speaking of,” Hal says, tilting his head, “what actually happened? Because I was this close to _actually_ punching Batman.”

_“The Guardians… tried to make some upgrades to the Power Battery,”_ John says. He grimaces, and Hal watches his ring pulse red for a moment. _“Kyle was lucky enough to get hope, so he’s the one giving us updates for now.”_

_“Any of us that got hope or compassion or whatever get to talk to the Guardians,”_ Guy says bitterly. _“Or if you didn’t change, you get to talk to ‘em, too. The rest of us, though, we’ve gotta wait.”_

“That’s bullshit,” Hal hisses, his temper flaring - and then, exhaling slowly to control himself, he adds, “They can’t do that.”

John just shrugs, looking resigned. _“They’re the Guardians. You know what they’re like.”_

“What about you, then?” Hal asks, jerking his chin towards John. “Guy’s greed, but what did you get?” Surely John’s one of the ones on the Guardians’ nice list - compassion, if Hal had to take a stab at a guess, that’s definitely John-

_“Willpower,”_ John sighs, tapping the face of his ring which is, indeed, a steady green. 

Guy snorts. _“It just never fucking changed.”_

Hal feels his eyebrows climb right up into his hairline. “Willpower is your primary emotion. You’re serious? How?”

John gives him a smile that, shockingly, is full of good humour. Hal suddenly, desperately wants to know how he’s managing it. _“You’d be surprised at how much I edit what I say and do.”_

Guy flicks his shoulder fondly. _“Makes sense you’re green then.”_

Hal glances away for a beat when both of their rings flicker pink. It feels oddly intimate to have all of that on display, and it’s one of the things he hates most about this situation so far; it was why fear choked him up in the meeting room at the first sight of yellow in his ring, memories rising up to close around his throat before he could even think things through. He can’t use humour and sarcasm as a shield if his emotions are so clearly on display for anyone to see. 

Then again, maybe it’s a good thing that he was too wrapped up in rage and fear to really think about Barry. Hal knows exactly what colour his ring would be then, and he’d been doing so damn well about keeping his crush to himself. He can only hope that his emotions decide to settle on something perfectly normal; he’ll gladly take something as simple as compassion, or, hell, even _rage_ will do. Anything will be better than having his heart forced onto his sleeve.

The projection turns pink anyway. Hal tries not to let it show on his face.

_“Do you think I could teach the Oan chefs to make a cheeseburger?”_ Guy asks with a wistful sigh.

* * *

In the end, Hal’s report is simple.

The Guardians tried to make some upgrades to the Central Power Battery, and they went awry. All Green Lanterns are, currently, at the mercy of their emotions - ones that are, in fact, _amplified_ by that fuck-up with the Power Battery, and perfectly visible through the rings. Hal explains this with an angry red glow around his entire hand, but this time, he sounds surprisingly calm to Barry. 

“So,” Hal finishes lamely, splaying his hands. He leans back in his chair, adopts his usual casual pose, but from his seat right next to him, Barry can _feel_ the tension rolling off of Hal in waves. “It’s supposed to mellow out at some point, according to the others, but I guess mine hasn’t picked an emotion yet.”

“Unless yours is rage,” Bruce says. His cowl is down now, and any trace of his own frustration from earlier is gone, much to Barry’s relief. 

Hal’s lips quirk down at the corners. “Yeah, no, I think that’s just residual anger from this whole situation.” He taps his ring, an eyebrow raised. “You would be too if you were in my shoes.”

Bruce tilts his head. “A fair point.” He pauses, leaning forwards to lace his fingers together. “However, until this is settled, it might be wise for you to remain here on the Watchtower.”

Barry stiffens. Across the table, Diana hisses, _“Bruce.”_

And yet, Hal just shrugs. “I figured you’d say that.” He chuckles, though there’s not much humour in it. “Sure, I’ll be the monitor and comms guy until this gets fixed.”

“That’s not _fair,”_ Barry says, shooting a frown between Hal and Bruce. “You can’t _confine_ him to the Watchtower.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “So you’d rather have a potentially rogue Lantern in battle?”

“I’m not fucking-” Hal cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. His fingers twitch on the table like he wants to cover up the red flash of his ring, but they stay put. Barry taps his knee gently against Hal’s as the glow fades. 

“I’m not a rogue Lantern,” Hal continues, much more calmly. “I’ve got this under control. Look.” Hal plucks the ring off of his finger and places it on the table with a click; Hal’s uniform fizzles away to leave him in his jacket and jeans, and Barry feels oddly overdressed in his Flash suit even with the cowl around his neck. “It’s the ring that’s fucked here, Bruce, not me. If I take it off, I don’t get any of the weird emotional side effects. Trust me, if I start having any _rogue thoughts_ or whatever, I’m not keeping it on.”

“I know,” Bruce says simply. Barry watches him drag his gaze up from the ring - no more than a circle of cold, dull, alien metal now - to Hal’s face. “But I thought you were prepared to wait it out up here?”

“I am.” Hal scoops up his ring, but he doesn’t slide it back on. He just… holds it, idly fiddling with it while they talk. He seems lighter, somehow. “I can find ways to help the League from here. Works for me.”

Barry looks away with a grimace. It doesn’t sit right with him, this level of distrust. Truth be told, he’s surprised the others haven’t spoken up sooner - although, judging by the wrinkle in Clark’s brow and the uneasy glance Arthur shares with Diana, he isn’t the only one. Even Bruce is frowning, and _he’s_ the one going along with this, but he looks like his mind is made up. 

“Barry?” Bruce prompts. “Is there something you want to say?”

He chews on his words for a moment, desperate for a better way to spin them. It’s rare that Barry feels as irritated as he does now, but he can feel it itching at at him insistently, grinding in his teeth. 

“I don’t think we should be treating Hal like a prisoner,” he says eventually, forcing himself to meet Bruce’s eyes. “It’s not _right._ He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Barry,” Hal says quietly, and now it’s his turn to knock their knees together, “it’s okay.”

He swallows hard. For Barry, it’s difficult to stay really, truly angry - it’s just not _him,_ not something he tends to hold onto - but this simmers under the surface like nothing else he’s ever felt. “It’s _not_ okay,” he mutters. “You’re being punished for something you haven’t even _done.”_

“Hal isn’t being punished,” Bruce says evenly. He actually sounds _cowed_ by Barry’s irritation, just a little bit. Something flashes through Barry’s chest, vicious and satisfied. “He’s making himself useful.”

“There,” Hal says, gesturing towards Bruce. There’s a bitter twist to his smile, though, one that he tries to hide behind the bravado, but Barry sees through it easily. The key is in the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Exactly. I’m just making myself useful, Bar, it’s fine, really.”

Hal clearly isn’t happy, but he _is_ stubborn.

Barry sinks back into his chair with a sigh, rubbing at his jaw. “Fine.” He waves a hand. “As long as Hal’s okay with it.”

“Just peachy,” Hal says in a way that suggests it is, in fact, the opposite. “Look at it this way, Bar, you get out of monitor duty for however long it takes to fix this. That’s a pretty sweet deal.”

Barry just hums noncommittally. 

Bruce’s gaze lingers on him, quietly evaluating, and Barry meets it evenly. Evidently, Bruce finds whatever he expects to there, because he looks away a beat later with a short huff. “Then it’s settled. Hal, you aren’t confined to the Watchtower, but if you do visit Earth, I’d appreciate you removing your ring to do so.”

Barry just bites his tongue, but Hal gives him a lazy little salute. “Sure thing.” 

Before he stands up at the end of the meeting, Hal neatly pockets the ring in an impressive sleight of hand, and if Bruce saw anything, he certainly doesn’t mention it now. Hal vanishes down the hallway towards the bedrooms without another word, and like earlier, Barry lets him go.

* * *

Hal leans back against the side of his bed with a sigh, hugging his knees to his chest so he can rest his closed fist on them. It puts the ring at eye level, and it sits there innocently on his finger, as cool and dark as it had been on the League table. He’d been hesitant to put it back on, but in the end, he figured it was the best course of action; like this, he can at least learn to recognise the boosted emotions and how to control them when they rise up. 

Or, well, in theory. In reality, it’s stayed silent. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” he asks it, and then flicks it when there’s no response. 

The anger from earlier has long since died down now that there’s some sort of plan in place, even if it _is_ just ‘sit and wait for this to be fixed’. There haven’t been any other flashes of fear, thank _fuck;_ it had made Hal feel sick just to see it, and he sure as shit doesn’t want to feel it again if he can avoid it. Parallax gave him a taste of that, and if he thinks too hard about it, he can feel its claws sinking into him all over again.

Hal shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts. The ring flickers yellow anyway, and anxiety creeps up his throat-

There’s a knock at the door, and the fear dissipates. He breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

“Come in,” he calls, dropping his head back. It thunks against the side of his mattress unsatisfyingly. Curse Bruce and his money and his perfect bed choices.

The door opens with a quiet whoosh of air, and Barry steps inside. The Flash suit is gone, Hal notes idly; he’s back to his usual button-down over a t-shirt combo, as effortless and handsome as the man himself. There’s a bag over his shoulder, and Hal latches onto that before he can think about Barry’s looks too much. 

“What’s that?” he asks, rolling his head towards Barry.

“Hi to you, too,” Barry chuckles. He leaves his bag by the door and wanders over, and, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he drops down next to Hal right there on the floor. Their shoulders brush as Barry gets comfortable, and after a moment to think about it, Hal leans in just enough to rest there, pressed together. It’s nice. 

“So,” Barry says, stretching his legs out in front of himself, “the floor, huh?”

“Yep.” Hal puffs out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I figured if I’m already pretty near rock bottom, I might as well get used to it, right?”

Predictably, Barry doesn’t do much more than exhale a little harder at that one. Hal glances over at him, and he’s unsurprised by the slight furrow to his brows. He’s so much more _motionless_ than usual, and it’s just… _strange._ Barry’s always full of energy even when still, always fiddling with something - his Flash ring, maybe, or a pen if he has one at hand - but right now, he’s just sitting there, his hands on his thighs, his features damn near unreadable.

“Well,” Barry says eventually, picking at a loose thread on the edge of his jeans, “I’ve heard that misery loves company.” He jerks his chin towards his bag. “I grabbed us both a few changes of clothes from Earth.”

Hal twists to face him. “Both of us?” he repeats.

There’s a smile at the corner of Barry’s mouth now. “Yeah. I’m not gonna leave you stuck up here on your own.”

“And what about Central?” Hal asks, arching an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you left the entire city to the other speedsters for however long this takes.”

“I’ll make trips back down,” Barry says. He looks up then, and the fucker is actually grinning. “Someone needs to do your laundry for you. We should probably ask Bruce to install some machines up here, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m not gonna just hand you my dirty underwear, Bar.”

Barry laughs, and Hal feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Fuck, he didn’t even realise it was there until it’s gone, effortlessly brushed away by Barry’s presence. “We’ve done worse,” Barry snorts. “I think I can handle your dirty underwear.”

“Whatever you say,” Hal says, puffing out a laugh despite himself. Somewhere along the way, his ring has settled into its usual, quiet green, and for a moment, Hal wonders if maybe he’s been lucky enough to get stuck with willpower, too. He thumbs the Lantern logo and tries to ignore the prickle of doubt at the back of his mind. 

Barry’s hand lands on his wrist. He squeezes gently. “It’ll be okay, Hal,” he promises quietly, and Christ, Hal’s never been able to resist those eyes when they’re all big and blue and earnest. “This’ll work out. Before you know it, you’ll be back out there again.”

Warmth trickles through his veins, and the ring splutters to life under his fingertips. This time, it’s blue.

Barry glances down, and then when he looks up again, he smiles at Hal, all crooked and handsome. He knows the Lantern spectrum as intimately as the rest of the League does, so Hal doesn’t lie to himself; Barry knows what he’s done, and it’s inspire hope, just as he always does. 

And the thing is, with the ring boosting it, Hal can feel it so much _more_ than he usually can. It swells in his chest, buoys him up and out of the quiet, despairing pit he’s been wallowing in since his conversation with the other Lanterns. He sits up with it, and everything that had been irritating him before - the waiting, the volatility of his emotions - just… fizzles away. If hope is really this powerful, Hal thinks, he definitely won’t complain if this is what his ring settles on. Maybe it will, with Barry around more. 

“You’re right,” Hal admits, shooting him a little smile. “Moping isn’t gonna solve anything.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it moping.” Barry prods his knee playfully. “It’s justified, to be honest. I’d be pretty upset if I suddenly couldn’t use my powers properly, too.” His shrugs, lips tilting down at the corners. “It’s sucked when it’s happened in the past. I get it, Hal.”

And then, in a change so abrupt it _must_ have been calculated, Barry claps a hand on his shoulder and pushes himself to his feet. “Enough about that, though. I’m here to cheer you up. Why don’t we see what we can scrounge up from the kitchen for dinner, and then we bring it back here to watch a movie?”

Hal blinks up at his outstretched hand for a moment, and then he grins and grabs it. “Sounds like a plan. I say we eat as much as we can so Bruce has to pay to fill up the kitchen again.”

“You won’t even have to try very hard with me here,” Barry reminds him, tossing a wink at him over his shoulder on his way to the door. “And it’s _sneaky_ revenge. I like it.”

Barry must be pissed if he’s willing to go for things like sneaky revenge, Hal thinks, and something slots into place between his ribs at the realisation it’s because of _him._ The thing that made Barry, one of the most easygoing men on the planet, put his foot down and say _no_ was Hal. It’s a heady thought that damn near sweeps him off his feet as he follows Barry down the corridor, and it thunders through his lungs with every breath, sweetly clouding his airways until all he can think is _Barry, Barry, Barry._

The ring grows warm on his finger, speeding up to the emotion building in his throat. When Hal glances down, he bites his tongue so he doesn’t swear.

It’s a bright, damning pink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, Batcest/incest shippers do not interact!

Hal wakes up with a crick in his neck. He grimaces, shifts just to sink further down on the couch to support his head better, and then exhales a long, slow breath. He does his little internal checks - the ring is still on his finger, thrumming with energy; no need to charge it yet - and only then does he properly process the warm leg hooked over his own. 

He doesn’t need to open his eyes. The flutter of his heart tells him all he needs to know.

Hal opens them anyway, turning his head to take in the scene. The TV is still on, sitting on the menu for the Watchtower’s media browser, and there’s an empty bowl on the coffee table with a few popcorn kernels sitting abandoned in the bottom. Barry is almost sideways on the couch, his cheek pressed against the arm and his legs tossed carelessly over Hal’s. He’s still sleeping peacefully, his hands squished up under his chin and his lips parted. Hal’s fingers itch with the urge to sweep his hair away from his forehead.

He swallows hard as the ring lights up pink. It’s not a surprise, but it  _ does _ make him painfully aware of how obvious he is.

Carefully, Hal slides out from underneath Barry’s stray leg. He eases it onto the couch, right where he was sitting, and Barry doesn’t stir. He doesn’t even shift when Hal grabs the spare blanket from the foot of his bed and drapes it over him, and he only snuffles slightly when Hal switches off the TV. Hal knows it’s useless to fight back the fond feeling in his chest, so he indulges it now as he rests his hand briefly on Barry’s shoulder, squeezes once before he heads for the bathroom for his morning routine.

The ring’s glow persists for a moment when he removes it to wash his hands, but it does fade after a beat. Hal watches it, considers it as he rinses soap off of his knuckle. He could wear it, could just let it show off whatever it wants while he goes about his morning. Maybe, if he’s lucky, something else will come along to distract him, and it won’t just give away where his head’s really at.

He tucks it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket instead. He stays there a moment, lingering on the zip as he tugs it up to his sternum, but one glance at himself in the mirror is all he needs to stick to his decision. 

He’ll put it back on later, he promises himself silently. He just… wants to test something first.

Hal quietly lets himself out of his room and heads towards the kitchen. Their raid on it last night was successful, and there’s still plenty that they can help themselves to for breakfast this morning - which, yep, a glance at his watch confirms it is indeed morning in Coast, so that’s good enough for Hal. He doesn’t remember when, exactly, they passed out last night, but he knows they worked their way through several movies before they dozed off. Barry was already horizontal on the couch by that point, laughing and tossing popcorn Hal’s way for him to catch.

His heart stutters in his chest. Hal puffs out a breath and heads on over to the cupboards.

He is, of course, well aware of his crush on Barry. It’s been there for longer than he cares to remember at this point, as much of a constant as the man himself, and while he’s gotten a good handle on it in the past few years, this whole issue with the ring has just thrown it into sharp relief all over again. Hal can’t exactly keep it to himself to preserve their friendship when the ring keeps settling on pink when they’re alone.

And that’s just it, Hal realises, dragging the toaster closer with a sigh. That’s his promised settled emotion. Pink.

_ Love. _

The thought of it makes him wince. Love is… a strong word for what’s happening there. Sure, he loves Barry as a friend, loves him with the deep kind of bond that can only be accomplished through the kind of shit they do on a daily basis as superheroes, but romantic… 

It doesn’t feel  _ right _ to call it love when Barry hasn’t given any indication that he reciprocates.

But even now, without the ring to boost the emotions that already exist, Hal knows he’s completely screwed, because Christ, he  _ does _ love Barry. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to deny the word itself, not when he’s helplessly, stupidly head over heels for the guy.

Hal tries to distract himself by starting up the coffee maker. It doesn’t work, but at least he has something to offer Barry when he eventually shuffles in, yawning and still wearing last night’s t-shirt.

“Wondered where you’d gone,” he hums, leaning against the counter next to Hal. “What’s on the menu?”

Hal slides a mug towards Barry. “Coffee,” he says. “What do you want with your toast?”

“Just buttered is fine.” Barry sighs with sleepy relief as he swallows the first mouthful of his coffee. It’s always struck Hal as a little odd that he reaches for it just like anyone else; his metabolism burns through it as easily as it does alcohol, leaving Barry with very little effect whatsoever. If it’s a habit that he’s just never been able to break, Hal thinks, it’s kind of adorable.

Barry smiles at him over the rim of his mug when Hal presents him with a plate. He’s suddenly deeply glad he’s not wearing the ring. “Thanks,” Barry says, all warm and sweet. It’s  _ definitely _ going to haunt Hal’s dreams.

With nothing else to do with his hands, Hal resorts to thievery. He tears off a corner of Barry’s toast and pops it into his mouth, and he just grins around it when Barry arches an amused little eyebrow. 

“So,” Barry says, switching to his food just to tug it out of Hal’s reach, “what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I need to check in with the other Lanterns,” Hal says, tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “And then I guess I should really get on the monitors like I was  _ supposed _ to last night.”

Barry doesn’t look even the slightest bit guilty. “Hey, nothing happened. I’m sure we would’ve heard about it if it had.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather not give Bruce a reason to be pissed at me.” 

“Just because you’re staying up here doesn’t mean you need to be alert the whole time.” Barry gestures around them with his slice of toast, frowning. “You’d get downtime if you were on Earth, he can’t expect you to sit at the monitors without a break.”

Hal bites his tongue. The truth is on the tip of his tongue - the fact that Hal’s the one pushing this, not Bruce - but he doesn’t. He’ll keep his thoughts to himself on that one; he doubts Barry wants to hear about how utterly useless he feels at the moment. 

“Well, it’ll give you a chance to go patrol Central,” Hal reminds him, nudging him with an elbow. “Besides, I thought you had a regular job to stick to?”

Barry shoots him a look, and Hal knows he’s been caught. He feels pinned in place, shoved neatly under a microscope for Barry to analyse. Whatever he finds, he apparently decides to tuck it away for later, because he just grumbles his defeat into his coffee. 

“I’ll be back later,” Barry promises, thumbing the faded Superman logo on his mug. The damn thing’s been through so many washes, and it was never a particularly expensive cup in the first place. 

“Bring your spare controller.” Hal flashes him a grin. “We can work through  _ Halo _ while we’re stuck up here.”

Barry laughs into the remnants of his coffee. “Any other requests?”

“Just yourself,” Hal adds before he can stop himself, but before he can metaphorically stamp on his own foot, Barry smiles at him again, and Hal can’t help beaming right back at him.

* * *

Once Barry’s headed back to Earth, Hal situates himself in the monitor room with plenty of snacks and drinks. He leans back in the chair, props his feet up on the desk - Bruce isn’t here to tell him off, ha! - and cracks open a bottle of water with a sigh. The map of Earth is right there on the screen, stretched out into a broad oval, and there isn’t a single warning light anywhere to be seen. 

It’s going to be a long day without Barry.

The ring flickers on his finger at the mere thought of him, all rosy and innocent, and Hal barely restrains himself from flipping it off. This time, it doesn’t fade back to green. It stays pink even when Hal turns his attention back to the monitors, humming with untapped energy. He ignores it.

Or, well, he ignores it until there’s a call from Guy.

Hal hesitates and glances at the monitors. Predictably, there’s still nothing. Apparently, the one time there’s someone constantly sitting there is the time Earth has decided to stay nice and quiet about any world-ending disasters, which is just perfect, really. It gives Hal more than enough reason to give in and accept Guy’s call; if anything comes up, he’ll just hang up.

This time, the video feed is crowded with another face. Kyle’s there, sandwiched right between John and Guy at the narrow desk in John’s quarters - Hal recognises that poster in the back, it’s definitely his - and, contrary to what they said on the last call, Kyle’s ring is glowing a bright, furious red. His smile is perfectly polite anyway, if a little tight around the edges, but otherwise, he doesn’t look like how Hal usually expects those filled with this particular brand of rage to look. 

When Guy spots him staring, he snorts.  _ “Ignore Kyle,” _ he says, his grin crooked at the corners,  _ “he’s just letting his hair down now he’s not in front of the Guardians.” _

“I thought you got hope?” Hal asks, tilting his head.

Kyle grimaces.  _ “Rage, technically,” _ he explains,  _ “mostly because this whole thing is bullshit. I guess I just have enough hope that it’ll get fixed to put on a brave face for the Guardians.” _

_ “He’s our spy,” _ Guy says smugly.

John snorts.  _ “Spy is a little rich. It’s not like he’s keeping quiet about how much the Guardians screwed up here.” _

_ “I’m just telling them in a hopeful way, just ask John.” _ Kyle smiles again, and it’s so ridiculously pinched at the corners that a laugh bubbles out of Hal before he can stop it.  _ “Hey, what are you laughing at, man? Clearly whatever emotion you got is keeping you off of Oa, so you haven’t got it easy, either.” _

John cocks his head, curious.  _ “Did your ring settle?” _

Hal swallows hard. “I, uh, I don’t think it…”

_ Don’t think about Barry, don’t think about Barry- _

It pulses pink. He looks away from the projection with a wince. “Yeah, no, I think I’m gonna keep that one to myse-”

_ “You got love!” _ Guy crows, clapping his hands delightedly.  _ “Fuck, that’s amazing.” _

“Fuck you, and fuck your cheeseburgers,” Hal shoots back, just to hear Guy groan and scowl at him through the call. It’s childishly, viciously satisfying. “Sure, mine’s love, okay? And I’m really tired of it being on display, so if we could just get this whole thing solved-”

_ “Yeah, about that,” _ Kyle sighs.  _ “The Guardians are playing hard to get. They’re saying it’s not that simple to switch it back.” _

Hal grimaces. “How long are we looking at?”

Kyle shares a nervous little look with John and Guy.  _ “A week,” _ he says.

“A week? That’s not that bad-”

_ “A week minimum.” _

Hal frowns. “Minimum? What the fuck? That’s the best time frame they can give us?”

_ “I think they’re trying to keep us from getting too worked up, mostly,” _ Kyle grumbles. His ring pulses with restrained anger, the kind that Hal imagines building up in a steady thump, thump, thump with Kyle’s heartbeat.  _ “I’m trying my best to move things along, so hopefully it won’t be too far off the mark.” _

_ “It’s gonna be fuckin’ months before I get my cheeseburger,” _ Guy groans, burying his face in his palms.

John lays a hand on his shoulder, and the look he shares with Hal is full of mirth.  _ “He’s been trying to teach the chefs here how to do it. They already knew how to make bread, so now we’re working on the patty.” _

_ “And it doesn’t fucking work!” _ Guy whines, and now he crumples forwards onto the desk, his nose pressed in against his folded arms.  _ “They don’t get it, and every time it just sucks! Hal, man, you don’t know how good you’ve got it-” _

Kyle smirks.  _ “You know, Guy, I bet Hal has someone who can bring him McDonald’s.” _

Hal’s stomach sinks when John’s smile widens.  _ “His mystery person, you mean?” _

_ “Exactly.” _

“Fuck you, you don’t even know it’s someone causing it,” Hal growls. He kicks at the desk just to make his chair spin a little, as if it’ll make him feel any better. “This could be for the love of humanity, or my team, or the Earth-”

Kyle bursts into laughter, and John turns away from the projection in a vain attempt to hide his chuckling. Hal glowers at the pair of them, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to discourage them. If anything, it makes things  _ worse, _ because they take one look at him and dissolve all over again. And, like the cherry on top of this shit cupcake, his ring stays a solid, vibrant pink, and it doesn’t shift even when Hal sinks lower in his chair, because he’s not even  _ angry, _ just  _ embarrassed. _

_ “Have a cheeseburger for me,” _ Guy pleads, either unaware of what’s unfolding around him or point blank ignoring it.  _ “Tell me what it’s like.” _

* * *

Barry comes back to the Watchtower with his backpack over one shoulder and a takeout bag on his other arm. He swings by Hal’s room to drop off his things, and when he finds it still empty - his blanket is even still on the couch in the same neat pile, but last night’s popcorn bowl has vanished - he sets out to roam the halls to hunt him down. There aren’t many places he’s likely to be; when the kitchen is a miss, he turns towards the monitor room instead.

Sure enough, when he’s just around the corner, he hears voices - voice  _ plural, _ because whoever let themself into the monitor room must’ve left the door open. Barry hesitates, and when he realises that’s  _ Bruce _ and Hal, he decides to wait. He leans back against the wall, takeout bag hugged to his stomach, head tilted, and Christ, there’s no real reason to eavesdrop, but something makes Barry hold back.

“Feet off the desk, Lantern.”

“It’s ‘Hal’,” he hears Hal scoff. “You can actually use my name, you know that, right? I’m not even in my uniform right now.”

Bruce grumbles something under his breath. Whatever it is makes Hal snort, but it’s a tired, bitter kind of snort, similar to the ones Hal had thrown into their conversation last night before he’d cheered up. Barry plucks at the paper handle of the bag over his wrist, grimacing.

There’s a pause, and then Bruce speaks again. “How… how are you doing?”

“Fine,” Hal says. “Great. Never better.”

“You know what I mean.”

Barry can almost hear the roll of Hal’s eyes. “S’gonna be a week minimum on the ring situation, Spooky. Nothing happened on the monitors either, obviously.”

“Hm.” 

The silence stretches for long enough that Barry almost steps inside - he isn’t even sure  _ why _ he’s lingering just out of sight, not really; Hal’s expecting him, and Bruce probably won’t be surprised to see him up here keeping Hal company - but then Bruce asks, “What… what emotions has it-”

“Not yellow.”

Irritation prickles at the back of Barry’s neck.  _ Of course. _ Of course Bruce is thinking about that.

The conversation sounds like it’s fallen flat on its face. Even Hal, who’s usually more than happy to chat away when there’s a lull, doesn’t speak up; there’s just quiet, awkward tension, and he can picture the pair of them posturing at each other all too easily, and with the ring probably on Hal’s finger…

Barry announces his arrival with loud, deliberate steps. “Hey, Hal!” he calls, rounding the corner with a grin plastered on his face. It falters slightly at the sight before him - Hal has his feet still deliberately on the desk, and Bruce is there in his cape and cowl - but then he forces it back into place with a polite nod Bruce’s way. It’s a little bit funny that Bruce is the only one in uniform, and it’s almost enough to make Barry laugh out loud when he and Hal are just sitting there in their civvies.

“Barry,” Bruce says somewhat stiffly. Even with the cowl on, Barry can tell when he glances down at the takeout bag; Bruce makes it obvious in the tilt of his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Hanging out with Hal.” He raises his bag, shoots Hal a wink. “I brought burritos.”

The first thing he notices is that the ring is pink. It’s a gentle sort of glow, one that seems to caress Hal’s hand rather than overcome it. When Barry looks up, Hal’s smiling, and Barry genuinely can’t tell if the flush in his cheeks is real or just a reflection from the ring.

It’s a sudden, startling reminder of his feelings for Hal. 

“Awesome,” Hal says, rising from his chair. He doesn’t even give Bruce a backwards glance. “Hey, Bruce, you don’t mind if I take off, right? I’ve been here all day.”

Bruce is, Barry realises,  _ really _ using the cowl to his advantage here. He can feel the weight of Bruce’s gaze, but Barry can’t tell  _ exactly _ what he’s looking at with the whiteout lenses in place. It could be anything from Barry’s face to the way Hal slings his arm across Barry’s shoulders, and he has absolutely no idea what he’s focusing on. Barry can feel the brush of energy from Hal’s ring against his jaw.

“That’s fine,” Bruce says eventually, his expression unreadable. “I’ll take over for now. Enjoy your dinner.”

Hal flashes him a shiteating grin. “I will, thanks. C’mon, Bar.”

Barry lets himself be steered out the door, lets Hal crowd him down the corridor and away from the monitor room. He glances back over his shoulder, but the doors sweep shut with a  _ whoosh _ of air. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Hal shrugs. “Just Bruce being an asshole, the usual.”

He certainly doesn’t disagree - Bruce is being ridiculously intrusive and cautious, and Barry knows full well what he was implying when he asked about the day’s colours - and sure, it’s entirely possible that Hal’s just using him as a lifeline to get out of an uncomfortable conversation, but something prickles at the back of Barry’s mind, urging him to look closer. It feels wrong to pry, though, so he shakes it off and ignores that persistent little voice; if he’s missing something, he’ll happily continue to do so until Hal says otherwise.

“You wanna watch a movie with dinner?” Hal asks. His arm slips away from Barry’s shoulder as he turns to open the door to his quarters. The ring still shines pink, casting a rosy tint on the door as Hal steps inside. “Oh, you brought your controller, right?”

Barry nods at the rucksack sitting innocently next to his other bag. “Right there.”

Really, he thinks, he should move his stuff to his own quarters - it’s just next door, it’s not even very far - but… he  _ likes _ this chance to just sit around with Hal like they’re two normal guys. The proximity is just a guilty little bonus to soothe the excited flutter of his heart. Barry doesn’t mind crashing on his couch if it means he gets to spend more time with Hal.

He leaves his bags where they are, and instead, he passes Hal his burritos. They settle down on his cramped little couch together, pressed shoulder to knee, and Barry stretches out comfortably as Hal presses play on their film of choice. Barry knows he runs hotter than the average person, but Hal has always felt pleasantly warm next to him, especially without his jacket between them; it rests over the back of Hal’s desk chair, folded neatly out of the way, and his sleeves are rolled up like that’ll help when he’s already slouching back into the cushions as he eats. 

There’s a spot of sauce on the corner of Hal’s lip, and Barry aches to kiss it away. He shovels a too big bite of his burrito into his mouth instead, and forces his gaze forwards. It doesn’t help much when he can  _ feel _ the rumble of Hal’s laugh next to him.

This, Barry thinks, is just shy of perfect. He knows he can’t have everything, though, so he’s more than familiar with satisfying himself with this much.

It’s enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batcest/incest shippers do not interact!

Hal finds himself settling into a routine without his conscious input.

Barry keeps staying on his couch, which is fine, except for the fact that Hal keeps crashing there, too. Every morning, he wakes to find himself trapped beneath Barry’s legs, and he makes a habit out of sliding free to make breakfast while Barry continues to sleep. Sometimes, Hal brings it back to his room to wake Barry up with the smell alone, and it’s entirely too funny to see the way his nose damn near twitches at the scent of his morning coffee. His ring stays a steady pink, taunting Hal with the way it’s clearly settled.

His days are filled with monitor duty and, occasionally, manning the comms for the League. The latter is frustrating and fun in equal measure, and it all comes down to how  _ trapped _ Hal is at the monitors; he likes the easy way the tech works, the way it moves at his direction, but he hates that he can’t be down there in the fray himself. This is  _ his _ sector, his to protect, and he can’t do his damn job properly. Occasionally, there’s meetings he can involve himself in, and whenever they circle back around to the ring, it shifts from pink to yellow. Fear claws at his throat, and he has to fight to keep his expression neutral. He knows Bruce doesn’t miss it.

The other Lanterns are, naturally, no help. Kyle and John have minimal updates on their daily calls, and all Guy can offer is the Oan chefs’ progress towards something resembling a cheeseburger. It’s entertaining, but it doesn’t exactly help with their situation - but, then again, there’s inherent comic value in seeing Guy drape himself over the desk and complain about it, so Hal figures he’ll take his wins where he can get them.

The one constant is Barry.

He comes and goes, as promised. He heads to Central after breakfast for work or patrol, and he comes back in the evenings with that same smile on his face. Sometimes he brings takeout from some of their favourite places, and sometimes he just brings groceries and a recipe so they can pass the time bickering playfully as they use the Watchtower’s tiny kitchen. It’s so oddly domestic in a way that Hal didn’t expect, and it only encourages the soft thing in his chest that eagerly feeds off of this kind of attention from Barry. It doesn’t matter whether he’s wearing the ring or not; it’s the same constant want, the same fluttery feeling in his throat that guides him towards Barry like a needle inevitably points north.

At night, they pass out together on his tiny little couch in his quarters, and when he wakes, Hal goes through the same gauntlet of emotions all over again. 

* * *

“It’s not fucking Parallax,  _ okay, _ Bruce?” Hal snarls. His ring flashes red, bright and dangerous, and Barry’s stomach feels like it drops right through the floor. 

They’re one week in now, and it looks like they’re about to sail right past the one milestone Kyle had been able to pass onto Hal. Barry knows for a fact that Hal was hanging onto that, desperate for that one promise the Guardians had given, and now that it’s slipped away, there just… isn’t another to replace it. According to Hal, all Kyle and John had managed on his daily call was a shrug. 

Bruce is quiet for a beat. He watches Hal carefully, stoically, and then, folding his hands on the table, he says, “I think my concerns are warranted considering last time-”

“Last time  _ wasn’t me,” _ Hal spits. He shoves his chair back from the table and plants his hands on it so he can lean forwards, insistent. “This, right now, is happening to  _ every _ Green Lantern, not just me. You wanna know why it’s yellow, Bruce? You wanna know why it keeps fucking changing every time we talk about this in meetings?”

Hal doesn’t leave him a pause to speak. Bruce doesn’t open his mouth anyway. 

“It’s because I’m scared.” Hal swallows hard, his shoulders hunching and his ring flaring a bright, sickly yellow, but he soldiers on. “I’m  _ scared, _ Bruce. I’m scared that this won’t get fixed before the next world-ending fight. I’m scared that I’m not gonna be able to help when Earth needs just one more guy in its corner.” 

He sucks in a shaky breath. His hands curl into fists on the table, and the ring pulses back to red in a steady, reliable rhythm. It’s almost like a heartbeat.

“This isn’t a Parallax situation. It’s just not. So can you maybe stop hounding me about this so I can calm the fuck down?” Hal exhales hard, and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The ring just boosts what’s already there. It’s all it’s doing, okay?”

Silence rests for a moment. Bruce just stares at Hal, his expression unreadable, and when Barry glances around the room, he finds only concern on every other face. Clark makes brief eye contact with him, almost like he hopes Barry will intervene again, but Barry knows better than to do that right now. Clearly, this has been building up, and to be honest, Barry is just fine with Bruce enduring a little bit of a talking to.

Bruce clears his throat. “I’m just… concerned-”

“You can ask any other Green Lantern right now and they’ll tell you the same thing is happening to them,” Hal repeats with a snap. “Shove this overly cautious,  _ ‘I’m just concerned’ _ bullshit up your ass.”

This time, he gives the chair a vicious kick before he leaves. It tips onto its side, wheels spinning as Hal stalks out of the room and disappears around the corner. 

Barry glares at Bruce, hard. He doesn’t meet his eyes.

_ Good, _ Barry thinks.  _ Be ashamed of yourself. _

“Well done, Bruce,” Clark mutters.

Bruce bristles. “I’m worried, as we all should be. We’ve seen the damage a Lantern can do.”

“And that’s not Hal,” Diana says quietly. “You  _ know _ that’s not Hal.”

Barry stands up. “You owe him an apology. He’s been giving it his all while he’s stuck up here, and you accuse him of  _ that?” _ He presses his lips together, exhales hard through his nose. “There’s concern, and then there’s not trusting him. Hal lived through Parallax. I think he’d let us know if he felt that again.”

He tugs his cowl up over his face again as he turns to leave. It doesn’t grant him the same amount of privacy that the Batman mask does, but it’ll do. 

He needs to run. He feels it like an itch in his bones as he tamps down on his anger, forcing it into other, more useful things. Barry takes off towards the gym, relishing the familiar fizzle of speedforce energy as it crackles through his muscles. His heart tugs him in the other direction, urges him to track down Hal, but Barry doesn’t indulge the thought; Hal will want space to calm down first, and he won’t listen while he’s still buzzing with rage and fear. 

A quick run on the treadmill, he thinks, and then he’ll find him.

* * *

Hal buries himself in one of the lesser used meeting rooms. He carefully places his hands against the floor to ceiling windows, stares out at the vast expanse of space, and he  _ breathes. _

Fuck Bruce. Fuck Bruce and his ridiculous, overbearing way of working. Not for the first time, Hal wonders if this is how his kids feel, and he doesn’t have to look very far to find the answer; Nightwing struck out on his own as soon as he could, after all, and while Hal’s never asked, he figures there’s an easy reason for it. In fact, the more Hal thinks about it, looks down the Wayne lineage with a bitter lens, he finds a pattern, and realises that Bruce is always the common denominator.

It’s a little bit satisfying. He feels less alone in his anger. 

He hadn’t been alone in the meeting room, he knows that much. He’d seen the way Barry’s eyes had flashed with quiet rage, had felt the heavy weight of Arthur’s stare as Hal had ranted on and on. Even Diana, usually happy to cut neatly through any rising tension, had stayed silent and let him go.

Hal exhales hard. His hands slip from the glass, dropping to his sides instead as he props himself up with an elbow. Interestingly, the ring has settled on green again; it reminds him of what John talked about on the first call, where he’d mentioned willpower and control over his own actions, and he watches his reflection as he flexes his fingers idly. 

He feels eyes on him before he sees them. There’s a window at his back, one that opens up onto the corridor, and in his desperate desire to get away, he didn’t think about the  _ where _ very hard; this was just the first empty space. Hal glances over his shoulder, and when he spots a familiar, unwelcome face through the glass, he snorts and faces forwards again. 

If Bruce wants to come and hassle him again, then Hal can just walk away. He can do that. He’s done it  _ twice _ already, even with rage burning a hole right through his middle.

Bruce lets himself in, because of course he does. He never knocks. Does he even know how to?

“Can I join you?”

Hal shrugs. “Do whatever you want.”

The door clicks shut. Bruce comes to join him at the window, leaving a respectable amount of distance between the two of them. It’s a good thing, probably; Hal’s keeping a tight enough grip on his simmering temper to stay where he is, but he’s not sure how much that’ll hold if Bruce starts talking shit and comes within arm’s reach. All of the Batman tech in the world wouldn’t be able to hold back one single, very human punch, Hal thinks.

Or, well,  _ fantasises, _ really. He’s not an idiot. He knows Bruce could block an easy swing without even breaking a sweat.

Still. It  _ would _ be nice.

“I’ve come to apologise.”

Hal blinks. His bad mood fizzles away, no willpower necessary. “Come again?”

Bruce puffs out a short breath through his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, this is too rich. “For?” Hal prompts. A smile takes root at the corner of his mouth.

He can practically  _ hear _ Bruce grinding his teeth. It’s delicious. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst about you,” he says. It comes out remarkably smoothly, considering Bruce looks like he’s straining to get each syllable out. “That was wrong of me. You’re a smart man, Hal, and I apologise for not trusting you.” 

Bruce clears his throat, gestures towards him with one gauntlet-covered hand. “Lantern tech is your area of expertise. It was wrong of me to dismiss that based on previous incidents - incidents that were beyond your control.”

He stops then, almost too abruptly. Hal lets the silence rest for a beat, just to see if Bruce has anything else that he wants to add. He  _ looks _ like he does, looks like he’s chewing on a thought, but when he stops working his jaw, it doesn’t go anywhere. He just… waits, almost like he’s expecting another lashing.

Hal sighs and rests his head against the window. The glass is cool to the touch. Soothing. “Thank you. I… I’m sorry for letting my temper get the better of me.”

Bruce makes a wordless little noise of disagreement. “That’s not your fault. I thought we established that.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve taken my ring off when I started getting too angry.” Hal closes his eyes. The twinkle of the stars in the corner of his eye is just a little too much right now, a little too close to home when he can’t step outside. He could, in theory - he doubts his ring would just fail him completely - but he’s stuck to the rules so far, so he might as well see it through. “I took out my frustration over this whole thing on you. That wasn’t fair.”

“But you made valuable points.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and when Hal opens his eyes, he finds that Bruce has folded his hands behind his back, tucked them under his cape. It’s strange to see him like this, even now; the cowl is down but the suit is still on, and while he has no doubt that Bruce is built like a brick shithouse under all of that kevlar, he seems so oddly human like this. “I was in the wrong, Hal. I was well aware of your situation, and I carried on anyway.” 

Hal grunts noncommittally. The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches, and Hal wonders if he accidentally just spoke Bat.

He decides to let it go. Hal knows they’re the two most stubborn people in the League, and if he persists, it’ll only end up in another argument. Besides, he thinks, tilting his head to idly watch Earth turn in the distance, Bruce is the one who caved and apologised first, so it’s a point in Hal’s column anyway.

“The ring,” Bruce says, and then he pauses. 

Hal glances over at him. “Yeah?”

“You said it only amplifies existing emotions.”

“Mhm.”

“The anger…”

“It’s not all you, Spooky.” Hal huffs out a quiet little laugh. “It gets pretty close, though.”

Bruce smiles. Fucking  _ smiles.  _ “I know.” 

Finally, he meets Hal’s eyes, and there’s something there that he can’t quite put his finger on. On anyone else, Hal would say it’s trust,  _ recognition, _ but on Bruce it just looks like it’s a couple of inches to the left. It’s probably in the same ballpark anyway, broadly speaking, and he won’t say no to a little bit of silent appreciation.

“How has it been?” Bruce asks, and then, quickly, he adds, “For you, personally. If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Hal almost wants to laugh - it’s a  _ painfully _ awkward start at best - but Bruce  _ is _ trying, and he doesn’t want to shoot him down before he really starts. He clears his throat, shifts on his feet as he forces himself to behave just this one time, and he shrugs loosely. “It’s, uh… been interesting, to say the least. Not as bad outside of meetings.”

“You said it settles on a particular emotion, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Has it?”

Hal bites the inside of his cheek as he fumbles with his answer. It  _ has _ settled, but is that something he really wants to share with Bruce, of all people? He’s a smart guy - usually the sharpest in the room, much to Hal’s irritation - and there’s a decent chance he’ll figure out the reasoning behind the ring’s chosen emotion. It’s not even worth trying to play it off the same way he had with the Lanterns; Bruce will know why because of his reluctance, or because of a twitch of his lips or something equally absurd.

He’s been quiet for too long. Hal sighs. “Yeah, it has.” And, before Bruce can ask, he closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the cool window, and murmurs, “It’s pink.”

“Pink,” Bruce repeats.

“Pink.”

“Hm.” It’s an oddly thoughtful sort of noise, and Christ, when did Hal get so good at interpreting Bruce’s grunts? Maybe he really does need to track down Nightwing so they can commiserate together. “That’s not what I expected,” Bruce adds. 

Hal cracks an eye open and glances over at him. “No?”

Bruce settles against the window, his arms folded loosely as he levels Hal with a look. It’s sort of…  _ gently _ analytical; not quite the usual laser focus he extends to problems before him, but it’s almost like he’s evaluating things. “I thought it would stay green,” he says.

“I wasn’t that lucky.” Hal huffs out a tired little laugh, one that’s more sigh than amusement. He looks down at his hand, idly flexes his fingers as the aura around the ring shifts. Sure enough, it’s changed to reflect where Hal’s thoughts are; a rosy glow reflects back at him from the window.

He can  _ feel _ Bruce wanting to ask, but there’s some small shred of decency holding him back. Hal thumbs the edge of the Lantern logo and weighs up his options.

“I figured there was a pretty decent chance it’d be like this,” Hal admits quietly. “I can… control it to some extent, make it change if I deliberately think about something else, but I’ve had a hell of a lot of time to think up here, and this is just… what it does.”

Bruce frowns, cocks his head. “I thought Barry was keeping you company.”

Hal flicks his gaze back up to Bruce’s. He holds it, and when he finds only genuine concern and curiosity there, Hal just thinks  _ fuck it. _

“He is,” Hal says. 

It takes Bruce all of two seconds to put it together. Hal sees it click between one blink and the next, watches Bruce’s lips part in a rare show of subtle surprise before he smooths his features out again. They settle on understanding,  _ sympathy, _ and Hal’s brain cycles around a simple mantra of  _ what the fuck. _

“Does Barry know?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hal spits out a bitter little laugh. “You really think I’d just tell him about this  _ now?  _ He’d think it was because of the ring.”

“Well,” Bruce says, and why the fuck is he  _ smiling? _ “I hear that some asshole keeps provoking you during League meetings, and my source says that you keep reminding everyone that the ring only works off of your  _ existing _ feelings.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Hal deadpans, but he smiles despite himself; seeing Bruce  _ try _ to make a joke is enough to tickle him any day. It’s surprisingly sweet right now, though, coming from him. Still, Hal can’t help kicking himself when he’s down, so he just exhales a heavy breath and says, “In that case, he’s already noticed, and he’s just not bringing it up.”

The weight of Bruce’s hand on his shoulder makes him jump. Hal jerks, eyes snapping back to his; Bruce just smiles at him, open and honest, and he doesn’t tease Hal for the flinch.

“Hal,” he says, “you’re not the only one who’s been wearing his heart on his sleeve this week.”

* * *

Pink.

Hal’s ring is pink.

His ring is pink, he’s smiling at Bruce, and everything suddenly makes a  _ whole _ lot more sense.

Barry swallows hard and stares through the window, watches the way Hal relaxes under Bruce’s touch, and his heart cracks neatly in two. It’s not the first time Hal’s ring has gone pink this week - far from it, in fact; Barry’s noticed the way it thrums with it most of the time, low and steady, and if he and Bruce have had  _ this _ going on in the background…

Well, it’s understandable. Barry finds his thoughts filled with Hal a lot of the time and they aren’t even together, so if he  _ is _ with Bruce and he’s riding the wave of new infatuation, it would only make sense that Hal’s ring reverts to pink whenever he’s relaxed.

There are other explanations, of course. There’s other meanings, other kinds of motivation for the Star Sapphires; it’s not all just romantic love. It’s entirely possible that what Barry is seeing is just linked to the presence of the League, or maybe it’s intended as appreciation for whatever Bruce has come to say - an apology, most likely, considering neither of them are frowning. It could even be the view of Earth from within the room, the reminder of Hal’s home making him wistful.

Or, Barry thinks, his stomach twisting unpleasantly as Hal laughs, it’s a much, much simpler reason.

He darts back out of sight, just in case, and begins a long, circuitous route back to- to  _ Hal’s _ quarters, where all of his spare clothes are. He doesn’t want to make an obvious trip back to Earth just to change, and it’ll be far too suspicious if he decides to move to his own room now after a week on Hal’s couch-

Barry pauses outside. He forces himself to exhale a long, slow breath before he presses his palm to the scanner, just so when he steps inside, his thoughts are marginally more settled.

Out of all the universes, he’s in the one where there’s potentially room for Hal and Bruce to… do whatever it is they do. If it exists, it looks a lot like what teachers dismiss as a schoolyard crush to Barry, or, at least, it does when he and Bruce aren’t almost literally baring their teeth and butting heads. He supposes that there’s probably space for a different sort of passion there, and if Barry isn’t seeing it, that’s because it’s not for anyone else  _ to _ see.

He sinks down onto the couch, still in his uniform. He tucks his thumbs under the edge of the cowl to pull it down and runs his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at it to try and centre himself. 

Really, logically speaking, this doesn’t mean anything either way. The colours of the Lantern spectrum were nuanced even before the rings started acting up; Barry’s listened to Hal talk about it more times than he can count, and he’s well aware that each colour has a whole range of emotions under its umbrella. Just because Hal’s resting state is love doesn’t mean that it’s for Bruce, or that it’s even romantic at all. The motivation behind Lantern power is a topic Barry finds deeply interesting, but right now, he finds his grip on it slipping as his heart takes over. 

Cool logic isn’t the easiest to listen to when there’s emotions in the way. 

Barry scrubs a hand across his face and stares at the remains from the night before: empty bags of chips, controllers strewn across the coffee table, half finished glasses of water. Reluctantly, he starts to clean up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is, technically, the last full chapter; the last part is an epilogue, which I'm going to post now as well since it's so much shorter! 
> 
> Batcest/incest shippers do not interact!

“What’s going on with you and Bruce?”

Hal pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. Barry’s looking down at his plate, idly scraping together the last of his rice, and he’s doing a  _ remarkable _ job of acting like nothing’s wrong. The thing is, Hal knows him far too well, and he can see the inconsistencies a mile off; Barry’s eyes are a little too tight at the corners, and there’s the slightest downtick to his eyebrows, like he’s holding himself back from frowning.

It’s weird. He’s been off ever since Hal stormed out of the meeting. He wracks his brains, thinking back to try and figure out if he said anything that could’ve hurt Barry, but he just comes up blank.

“What do you mean?” Hal asks, raising his eyebrows and his fork.

Barry shrugs. It’s probably supposed to come off casual, but there’s tension knotted up in his shoulders. “Just curious. I saw you two together earlier today after the meeting, and I was wondering if everything was okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Hal tilts his head, considering him. Something’s off. “He just came to apologise, is all.”

“Bruce, apologising?” The corner of Barry’s mouth tugs up. “That’s new.”

“It was a pretty good one, actually,” Hal chuckles. “I should’ve recorded it, I don’t think we’ll ever get one like it ever again.”

Barry laughs quietly. “Well, not if he’s starting to soften up.”

_ What? _

“Soften up how?”

“I…” Barry puffs out a short breath his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

Hal puts his cutlery down on his plate with a clink. “Bar, what is it?” He leans forwards to try and meet Barry’s eyes, but he’s definitely avoiding him now. “Barry?”

“I-” Barry cuts himself off, grimacing. “Hal, don’t worry, it’s none of my business.”

“What’s none of your business? I’m so fuckin’ lost right now, Bar.”

Barry sighs and rubs tiredly at the side of his face. “When I saw you and Bruce talking, your ring was pink. I was just… I don’t know, wondering if I’d missed something, or-”

Hal can’t help it: he bursts into laughter, full-bodied and overwhelming. Barry shoots him a faintly annoyed look, one tinged with fond amusement, and it just makes Hal double down, even as he tries to stifle himself. 

Oddly enough, there’s relief on Barry’s face, too.

“Okay, okay,” Barry snorts, shaking his head as he turns back to his dinner. “You’ve made your point.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, seriously, I’m gonna calm- You thought that was for  _ Bruce?” _ The truth wobbles dangerously on the tip of Hal’s tongue. He grabs his water under the pretence of composing himself, but really, he’s just trying to swallow down what he knows he can’t say, no matter what Bruce fucking thinks. 

“You didn’t see what it looked like from the outside,” Barry mumbles sheepishly. Whatever shadow was there on his face is gone now, at least, and Hal ignores the telltale swoop in his stomach when he realises that Barry was  _ invested _ in his answer for whatever reason. He’s suddenly really, really glad he removed the ring before they started eating. “The ring, his hand on your shoulder, your smile-”

Hal shoots him a grin. “Oh, so I can’t smile without it being flirting?”

Barry rolls his eyes and kicks at his ankle. “Shut up, you know what I mean. The set up was there.”

“Y’know, aside from the fact that I can’t stand Bruce for more than five minutes?”

It’s enough to make Barry really laugh this time, and it’s the kind of laugh that sounds like it’s bubbling up through Barry, unexpected and pleasant. “I was in the gym for a while, Hal. You two were in there for more than five minutes.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Hal places a hand over his heart and offers Barry a pleading little look. “You’re right, clearly I’m in love with Bruce, then.”

“Okay, so I’m never gonna live this down.” Barry puts his empty plate down on the coffee table and, to Hal’s delight, buries his face in his hands as he laughs again. “I get it. You don’t need to rub it in.”

“Oh, no, this definitely needs rubbing in.” Hal grins as Barry huffs into his palms. “This is the best fucking thing I’ve heard in the last week. I bet Bruce would piss himself if he knew.”

Barry sits up, looking mournful. There’s a twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth where he’s struggling not to smile, but he holds up his act well this time, much better than he did at the start of the evening.  _ “Please _ don’t tell Bruce.”

Lazily, Hal props his feet up on the coffee table, and he sinks back into the couch with a content, over-the-top sigh. “I won’t. But you realise this is  _ gold, _ right, Bar? I’m not gonna let this go.”

“I know.” Barry drops his chin into his hand with a sigh. “I know.”

* * *

Okay, so crisis averted, at least somewhat. Barry sleeps peacefully in his usual tangle on Hal’s couch that night, safe in the knowledge that Bruce is absolutely  _ not _ involved in Hal’s love life. 

And sure, he still has no idea what the motivation behind Hal’s love is, but considering he hasn’t volunteered that information, Barry doesn’t prompt him. It’s probably deliberate and, if it really is that personal, then it’s  _ romantic _ in nature, and he knows full well that Hal doesn’t like to expose the soft, vulnerable parts of himself when he’s already on edge. This is, naturally, one of those times.

It’s why Barry steps out of the room if he’s ever around for one of the Lantern calls. Hal doesn’t ask him to stay or go either way, but he  _ does _ give Barry the more amusing cheeseburger related updates when they’re done. The absence of anything else they talked about is obvious.

But Barry doesn’t pry. He tries (and fails) to not think about it.

He tangles up with Hal to watch movies and play games, laughs with him while their ankles lock together on his coffee table, and carefully doesn’t look at the steady pink glow of Hal’s ring. He definitely doesn’t think about the motivation behind it, and he looks away whenever he notices it getting brighter. 

It’s not for him. It just  _ isn’t. _ Barry can’t explain how he knows it, but… it just isn’t love for him, not the kind that he so desperately wants it to be.

* * *

_ “Hal,” _ John sighs, rubbing at his temples with a tired smile,  _ “you’re gonna have to say something.” _

“Do I, though?” Hal leans back in his chair, props his feet up on his desk lazily. In his experience, faking it ‘till he makes it works well enough, so if he pretends to be all casual and relaxed, he should feel it too, right? “He didn’t ask  _ why _ it was pink. Maybe I can get through this completely unscathed and things can go back to normal. Where are we on that, by the way?”

Kyle levels him with an unimpressed look.  _ “Getting there, but it’s gonna be a little longer yet before I can give you anything solid. You’re not getting out of this conversation that easily, either.” _

_ “For someone who’s dealing with one of two of the most possessive emotions, you’re really not showing much of the possessive part,”  _ John chuckles.

Guy frowns and plucks halfheartedly at his most recent burger attempt. It looks a little bit limp on his plate, if Hal’s honest, and there’s definitely no cheese.  _ “I’m right here,” _ he huffs. 

John pats him on the shoulder.  _ “You’re not showing it much either.” _

Hal rolls his eyes. “Either he likes me or he doesn’t. No point in getting weird about it. Also fuck you, I’m not  _ actually _ a Star Sapphire.”

_ “You’d look good in their outfits, though.” _

“Thank you, Guy.”

_ “‘Either he likes you or he doesn’t’?” _ Kyle repeats, smirking.  _ “You sound like a high schooler.” _

Hal just flips him off through the projection, much to Kyle’s amusement. He’s right, of course, irritatingly enough, and it hasn’t escaped Hal’s notice; his quietly formed feelings for Barry, the ones he was more than happy to just live with until recently, have swelled inside his chest like a balloon now, too insistent to ignore. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a spare notebook sitting around, or Hal’s sure he’d be doodling ‘Mr. and Mr. Allen’ on it like a teenager with their first crush.

The thing is, he’s pretty sure it’s intensifying by the day.

Not the feelings themselves - those were already present enough, a fact that Hal felt deep in his bones before the ring’s interference - but the demanding light around his ring. He glances down at it while the other Lanterns chat amongst themselves, watches as it pulses and ticks just a little bit brighter.

He knows for a fact he’s become more obvious about it, at least outside of Barry’s presence. Talking to Bruce surprised even himself; any other day, Hal would rather sit in the monitor room for a week straight than open up to Bruce, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Admitting it here, where nobody will tell Barry a thing, feels a little bit like letting some air out of that balloon in his chest just so it won’t pop while he’s  _ actually _ around him. 

It’s getting harder, though, especially when they spend so much time together. It’d be so easy to cross that bridge, to reach across the gap and just-

_ “Oa to Hal,” _ Guy grunts. 

He blinks. “Sorry, yeah, I’m listening.”

_ “No you weren’t.” _

Hal drags a hand over his face and sighs. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t.” It was either about Guy’s burger or Hal’s situation, which have both been done to death already, as far as he’s concerned. He’s  _ tired. _

“I know you said we’re still waiting on a fix,” he says, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, “but what are the odds that’s gonna happen in the next couple of days?” 

_ “Shaky,” _ John admits. Then, gentler, he adds,  _ “Hal, you can always just take the ring off.” _

John’s right, of course. On Oa, they don’t have much choice, not when the ring is keeping them alive in the cold depths of space, but here, on the Watchtower, Hal has everything he needs: food, water, oxygen. Unlike them, he can - and has - removed the ring with no consequences for a well deserved break. 

He doesn’t want to. He isn’t even sure what it is, but he doesn’t  _ want _ to. 

It’s almost like he wants Barry to notice, just so he doesn’t have to say it out loud. Hal bites the inside of his cheek, clamping down on that train of thought before it can run away with him.

“It’s easier to keep it on,” he says, idly spinning his chair back and forth. 

John just hums noncommittally. If he sees right through Hal, he doesn’t mention it.  _ “This’ll be over soon,” he says instead. “Things will be back to normal before you know it, Hal.” _

_ “Think of it this way.” _ Guy picks up his limp burger, grimacing as he pinches it together between his fingertips.  _ “You got a free vacation outta the Guardians. You’d have to work your ass off to get two weeks any other time.” _

“Fair point,” Hal chuckles. “You’re not seriously gonna eat that, are you?”

_ “It’s the closest thing I’ve got. I don’t see you flyin’ a McDonald’s over here.” _

“No, but I do have my own personal delivery guy.”

* * *

Two weeks.

That morning, Hal’s still on the couch with him when Barry wakes up. He’s at the opposite end of the couch, tipped onto his side with his head against the arm, and the ring is on the coffee table. Barry doesn’t move, and while Hal keeps staring at the ring, his gaze is distant, like he’s somewhere else. Odds are, he’s contemplating just how long it’s been now since this started, and he’s wrapping himself up in it entirely too tightly.

Barry takes the scene in with a quick glance, and he immediately begins to form a plan.

He can’t put it into action until later, but that’s fine. He stretches obviously to let Hal know he’s awake, and sure enough, Hal’s smile is a thin one, pulled tight at the corners. “Hey.”

“Morning.” Barry stifles a yawn behind his wrist. “So it’s my turn to make breakfast today, huh?”

“Yep.” Hal huffs, burrowing further under his blanket. “How many times have you made it this week?” He pauses, and when Barry can only offer him a guilty little shrug, Hal snorts and adds, “Exactly.”

Barry heaves himself to his feet, idly tucking his end of the blanket down by Hal’s feet. “I’ll see what I can find. I’m gonna head back home after, though; I’ve got some errands to run.”

Hal just hums in acknowledgement. He’s strayed back to the ring. “No problem.”

He almost lingers, almost asks Hal what’s on his mind, but Barry shakes it off; Hal won’t answer, he knows that much, and he’ll only withdraw if Barry does say anything. It’s better to wait, to see if maybe Hal will bring it up on his own once he’s had time to work through it himself.

It haunts Barry anyway when he arrives in Central City. 

He runs through the motions of throwing on laundry, and he idly tidies his apartment while he waits - not that there’s much to do when he’s spent the last couple of weeks on Hal’s couch. He’s killing time, mostly, giving Hal the space he seems to need today, but it doesn’t hurt to put in an appearance around the city anyway. Wally’s done a great job on hopping in on anything important while Barry’s up in space, though, so really, the only thing that stops Barry is the occasional delighted citizen asking for a photo with the Flash.

The comfort of going through the motions is enough. It soothes something rattling around in Barry’s chest, something that’s too self-conscious and almost scared.

He doesn’t think about it.

He takes the clothes out of the dryer, hissing at the little snaps of static electricity as he folds them and bundles them back into his bag. Before he has time to think about how ridiculous he feels over his whole plan, he’s already away again, racing back to the nearest teleporter with a stack of pizza boxes in his arms.

* * *

Hal’s ring is almost blinding when Barry steps into his room. 

He’s at his desk in the middle of a call, and Barry freezes before he’s even over the threshold. His cheeks prickle with warmth as Hal looks him over, takes in the sight of him windswept and carrying a feast for them, and he has to fight back a sheepish smile when Hal just  _ beams _ at him.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says, barely glancing back at the projection. 

_ “Is it your personal delivery guy?” _ Kyle snarks - or, at least, Barry thinks that’s what he says, because Hal ends the call towards the end of the sentence.

“That was rude,” Barry says, raising an eyebrow.

Hal shrugs it off, spinning his chair to face Barry. “He was just being an asshole anyway. We were done, I was just waiting on you to come back. How was Central?”

“Fine. Nothing major.” Barry sets his stack of boxes down, and shrugs his bag off into its usual corner of Hal’s room. “How are the Lanterns?”

“Guy swears the chefs are getting close to his cheeseburger,” Hal says, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “They’ve figured out how to make something that’s  _ kinda _ like cheese.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s purple and hard as a rock, apparently, but it  _ does _ taste like it.”

Barry laughs and sinks into his side of the couch. He leaves Hal plenty of room, but he presses their knees together anyway when he joins him; Barry can’t tell if he can genuinely feel warmth coming off of Hal’s bright pink ring, or if it’s just his imagination. 

He reaches for a pizza box. “Well, luckily for you, I’ve got  _ real _ cheese here. I got a few different kinds of pizza, so take your pick.”

“Thanks,” Hal says, and he squeezes Barry’s knee before he goes for his first slice.

They settle in with  _ Rocket League, _ passing the controller back and forth between matches so they can eat. The controller ends up  _ way _ too greasy, but Hal doesn’t seem to mind; he laughs it off when Barry warns him with a wrinkle of his nose, and then he just takes it anyway to start his round. There’s a smile on his face, wide and bright and  _ genuine, _ and it’s one of the most beautiful things Barry’s ever seen.

The lights dim with the loose day-and-night cycle the Watchtower has, and neither of them get up to manually change it. Barry’s far too invested in the little bubble of joy they’ve created to bother tearing himself away from Hal, and  _ Hal’s _ too wrapped up in winning his next match. He twists and wriggles back and forth on the couch next to Barry, and when he scores a goal, Barry takes it upon himself to hold up a slice of pizza for Hal to clumsily bite into. Vegetables wobble dangerously on the edge with Barry’s laughter, so he puts it down before he can make a mess, though he has the feeling that Hal wouldn’t really mind. 

Just as he’s wiping his fingers off on the knees of his jeans, something catches the corner of his vision.

The TV bathes them in an artificial glow, washes out the colour in Hal’s t-shirt to leave him as just a monochrome silhouette in the gloom, but there’s a bright point of colour down by Hal’s lap. The ring is an insistent pink, and it only grows brighter the longer Barry watches.

He rips his gaze away when Hal passes him the controller, but he hears Hal’s quiet inhale when he glances down. Barry forces himself to turn his attention back to the screen to start up another round, and desperately tries to ignore the light coming from his left. Hal won’t appreciate him asking, he reminds himself, and it’ll ruin the perfectly good evening they’ve had. The whole point was to take Hal’s mind off of the ring situation, not to  _ remind _ him of it.

Barry inevitably loses the match, as he does most of the time. Turns out, fast reflexes aren’t everything for video games like this, though he’s sure he’s heard Wally swear by them a few times.

When Hal doesn’t put out an eager hand for the controller, Barry lingers on the menu. He lets the music play, and it fills the silence between them as they both try to ignore the elephant in the room.

But Barry can’t help himself. He looks left, and his heart clenches.

Hal’s right hand hovers in front of him so he can stare down at the ring. As Barry watches, he turns it just a little, as if he can read something within the depths of the glow. Whatever it is makes the corner of his mouth twitch down. Pink highlights the arches of his cheekbones, the shape of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose, and Barry’s mouth goes dry with the  _ want _ tugging at his heart.

It would be so easy to cross the chasm between them.

Instead, he clears his throat. “So…” Barry idly flicks the sticks on the controller with his thumbs, just for something to fiddle with. Pink pulses in the corner of his eye. “Is it… is the colour based off of what you’re doing right now, or what you’re thinking, or…?”

Hal sinks back into the couch cushions with a slow breath through his nose. “It’s what I’m thinking.”

The corner of Barry’s mouth twitches. “You must really love  _ Rocket League _ then, huh?”

He watches Hal puff out a soft laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It dies long before it gets there, shot down by the way Hal looks down at his ring again. His left hand comes to mess with it, twisting it around his middle finger in a nervous little gesture; Barry blinks and looks away when the pink flutters. “Something like that,” Hal murmurs, and he almost sounds…  _ resigned. _

And then, like a kaleidoscope, the ring flickers, fast enough that Barry almost misses the sequence: blue, yellow, back to pink.

Hope, fear, love.

And oh, Barry isn’t stupid. Before today, he didn’t know what to make of Hal’s ring settling on pink, but there’s a very easy way to interpret that sudden sequence of emotions. Something stirs in his stomach, drags him down by the collar and says  _ hey, pay attention.  _

“Actually…” Hal trails off. He pauses, licks his lips, and there’s a brief thread of green in the pink glow for a moment before Hal sighs, “I was thinking about you.”

Barry’s throat closes up. His heart thunders in his chest, hammering against his ribs at speeds he’s only felt when he’s running, fast enough that he wonders if it’s going to burst free like a caged hummingbird. He’s aware of his sharp little inhale, feels it catch in his lungs and stick there because oh, God, this is everything Barry hadn’t dared to hope for, everything he’d buried the second he saw Hal’s ring turn pink with Bruce, everything he’s quietly wanted for  _ so _ long-

And he still hasn’t said a word. Shit.

The glow wobbles, and it turns a sour yellow. Hal claps a hand over it, but it’s no use; Barry can see pink seep out from between his fingers as plain as day as it reasserts itself. 

Hal growls in frustration and yanks it off his finger entirely. Barry can’t recall a time he’s ever seen Hal glare down at his ring in such disgust; the pink fades in increments, lingering as if to taunt him. Hal only opens his fist again when it’s cool and dark, heavy in the palm of his hand. With it gone, they’re left with just the TV; it makes it harder to read the play of emotions on Hal’s face, more difficult to even  _ see _ them let alone  _ understand _ them.

“Hal?” 

“Forget it.” Hal turns the ring over in his fingers and carefully doesn’t look at Barry. He can see the way Hal’s sinking into himself over this already, no doubt preparing to brush this off or pretend it never happened.

That’s the last thing Barry wants.

He rests his fingers on Hal’s knee. “Hal,” he repeats, softer. Hal hums noncommittally, but he still doesn’t look up, and Barry can damn near feel him slipping away.

Barry drums his fingers against Hal’s knee to draw his attention. His head tilts slightly, just enough to let Barry know he’s listening. “It only pulls from existing emotions, right?” he asks. “It doesn’t… make new ones?”

In the low light from the TV, Barry sees him close his eyes. “Yeah,” Hal huffs. Then, pained, he admits, “Yeah, I… this isn’t anything new, Bar.”

He slides his hand up Hal’s wrist, up to his fingers so he can take the ring. Hal lets it go easily, and Barry feels a little thrill thud through him; there aren’t many people that Hal would willingly hand the ring over to. “So if I put it on,” Barry says, and then he pauses, hoping that Hal will connect the dots.

He just shrugs. “It’d show… whatever you’re thinking or feeling right now,” Hal says, gesturing loosely towards him. He still doesn’t look over, still refuses to meet Barry’s eyes, and Christ, it’d be so much easier to do this if Hal would just meet him halfway.

Barry thinks about the flash of yellow on the ring before Hal took it off, and he slides his thumb over the Lantern symbol.

“Well,” Barry says, offering him the ring again, “I think it’d be a pretty damning pink.”

Barry  _ hears _ Hal’s teeth click together as he snaps his mouth shut. Finally,  _ finally, _ he lifts his head, and when he actually looks at Barry, he watches his gaze dart back and forth, his lips parted in surprise. Barry lets his hand linger on Hal’s as he presses the ring back into his palm, stays there as Hal curls his fingers around it and him, and he lets himself be a completely open book. He  _ wants _ Hal to read the answers. He’s tired of hiding them.

“Pink,” Hal repeats flatly.

“Yeah.” Barry offers him a little smile. And then, just to be a little bit of an asshole, he says, “It isn’t anything new, Hal.”

At long last, Hal’s features relax. It begins in the corners of his eyes, right there in the creases that usually appear when he laughs, and eases out to the rest of his face in increments. He doesn’t look so closed off now, not like he had when Barry had been too genuinely surprised to say a word. There’s a slight smile hovering on his lips, one that he seems a little bit too hesitant to really let loose.

He doesn’t  _ say _ anything, though, nothing beyond a soft  _ huh. _ He just considers Barry, keeps searching his face, almost like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

One thing Barry  _ does _ see, however, is the way Hal glances down at his mouth.

Barry telegraphs his moves carefully. He brushes his thumb against Hal’s fingers as he inclines his head, and he pauses when his nose bumps Hal’s, just in case. Here, he can feel the stutter of Hal’s breath against his cheek, and Barry’s heart rattles against his ribs.

Hal closes the gap. Barry slams his eyes shut as he exhales, and relief washes over him in one long, warm wave. He slots his fingers between Hal’s, bumping the ring on his way; when Hal twists his wrist to hold Barry’s hand properly, the ring gets trapped between their palms. The cool weight of it doesn’t even register, though, not when Hal’s lips are so warm and soft. 

They part after a moment, albeit reluctantly. He presses his forehead against Hal’s, puffing out a shaky, breathy laugh when he spots the curve of Hal’s smile.

“What’s so funny?” Hal asks, squeezing his hand.

“Nothing,” Barry promises. He gently tugs at Hal’s shoulder - when had his other hand gotten so tangled in Hal’s shirt? - and bumps their noses together. “Nothing, it’s just… I can’t believe we’ve been so stupid about this.”

Hal hums, quiet and amused and  _ so _ fond. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“I didn’t want to assume that it was about me.”

“But you  _ did _ assume it was about Bruce.”

“God, shut up,” Barry laughs, gently shoving at him. Hal turns his head to the side and snickers into Barry’s cheek. “You couldn’t just let us have this one moment, could you?”

Hal’s lips graze his temple. Barry can feel his smile, and it’s  _ intoxicating. _ “We still  _ have _ our moment. It hasn’t gone anywhere. You haven’t exactly asked me to dinner yet, Bar.”

He pulls back just so he can cup Hal’s cheek and look him in the eye. Hal grins at him, and  _ God, _ he’s beautiful; he looks like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and Barry didn’t realise just how much he missed seeing that open, carefree smile until now. It lights Hal up from within, no ring needed.

“I’ve been buying you dinner for the past two weeks,” Barry shoots back, raising his eyebrows. “I think it’s  _ your _ turn, buddy.”

“Okay, sure.” Hal laughs, louder now,  _ delighted. _ “Wherever you wanna go, it’s my treat.”

And then Hal dips down to kiss him again, and Barry eagerly meets him halfway. The controller gets kicked to the floor and forgotten as they tip backwards on the couch, and, eventually, the Xbox switches off, plunging them into darkness. Hal slips the ring back on just to make Barry snort unattractively when it lights up, and Hal kisses him into the cushions with laughter on his lips.

As their attention drifts, the ring glows a delicate, muted pink on Hal’s finger, satisfied at last.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the epilogue! Thank you so much for reading, everyone who's been commenting has been absolutely wonderful and so sweet. I'm honestly blown away by how much people liked this little idea! I've got some others in the works, and while I haven't started them yet, hopefully it won't be too long until I can throw something in the tag again! 
> 
> And, one last time for this fic: Batcest/incest shippers do not interact.

“Oh, this is so much better already,” Hal sighs, wiggling his fingers. His ring sits on his finger, a solid, steady green at last, and he feels the familiar warmth of his willpower mixing with the Lantern energy in his veins. It’s a heady feeling, comforting and encouraging in equal measure. 

_ “Right?” _ Guy grins at him.  _ “I fuckin’ missed it. John, you don’t know how good you had it.” _

_ “I had some idea,” _ he says, a twinkle in his eye.

_ “Hey, when’s Barry getting here?” _ Kyle asks, craning his neck as if he’s trying to see around Hal.  _ “I thought we were celebrating together.” _

Hal glances at his phone on his desk. He’s hard pressed not to broadcast his feelings for them all to see; a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, ticking up one side. “He’s on his way, he was just grabbing burgers for us.”

Sure enough, Hal’s door swishes open so Barry can stumble inside. His hair is swept up on one side like it got caught under the Flash cowl, and Hal fights back the urge to comb it back into place for him. He fails anyway when Barry pulls up the other chair, and he eagerly drinks in the fond look Barry gives him as he opens up the McDonald’s bag. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, glancing at the projection of the other Lanterns. 

_ “Traffic?” _ John jokes.

“Something like that,” Barry laughs. He passes Hal his burger, and then a carton of fries once he has a hand free. “How’s that cheeseburger, Guy?”

_ “Amazing,” _ Guy moans around a bite.  _ “It’s no Earth cheeseburger, but fuck, this is good. Soon as we’re cleared to go, I’m comin’ back for one.” _

Kyle squeezes himself in between John and Guy, propping up his plate on his knees as he floats there without a trace of red Lantern energy on him.  _ “First thing I’m doing is sleeping in my own bed,” _ he says, sighing wistfully.  _ “I missed it.” _

“I’m just ready to get off the Watchtower,” Hal says, dunking his fries in their tiny little pot of ketchup. “I don’t care what I do.”

Really, he does actually have plans, but he doesn’t feel like sharing with the class. Instead, he trades a secret little look with Barry while the others are distracted, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully. If they get their way, they’re going to hole up in Barry’s place and, ideally, not leave for a good few days. Sure, it’s exactly what they’ve done on the Watchtower so far, but it’ll just  _ feel _ different on Earth. It’ll make the relationship feel  _ real. _

He only realises he’s been staring when Guy audibly sighs.  _ “I take it back,” _ he groans.  _ “Can we go back to when you guys were pining?” _

* * *

Bruce catches them on their way to the teleporter. He’s in his suit, but the cowl is down, and there’s that little smile on his face that might as well be a grin with how infrequently it shows up. An odd mixture of wariness and laughter bubbles up in Barry’s throat, and he swallows it back with a polite nod.

“It’s good to see you back in uniform, Hal,” Bruce says. “Are you headed back to Oa?”

“Earth first.” Hal shifts on his feet, tilting closer to Barry. He doesn’t miss the way Bruce zeroes in on their elbows brushing. “I’ve got a couple of days first. The Guardians wanna make sure its stable before I fly that far through space, but I haven’t seen any problems. Figured I’d give it a test run by heading home.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Bruce gestures towards the wide double doors. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do before you fly out again.”

“I’m actually gonna be taking it easy now I don’t have to worry. I could do with just being plain old Hal Jordan for five minutes.”

Bruce hums a quiet sound that Barry  _ swears _ is a laugh. “Then enjoy. I just came to offer my congratulations.”

The way he looks at the pair of them is too meaningful for it to be  _ just _ about the ring. Regardless, Bruce doesn’t say anything else before he swoops around the corner and out of sight, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared. Barry shakes his head, faintly amused, and leads the way through the doors in the other direction.

“Were we always that obvious?” Hal asks. He comes up behind Barry, hooking an arm around his shoulder to lean against him lazily while Barry punches in the coordinates for Central City. “He definitely knows, right? That wasn’t just me?”

Barry shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, he definitely knows. He had that look on his face.”

Hal huffs. “Yeah, I know the look. Damn. I thought we’d get at least a couple of days of privacy out of this.”

“We will back in Central.” Barry turns away from the keypad, and reaches up to cup Hal’s cheek. He leans in to give him a quick, fond peck. “I’ll see you there?”

Hal curls his fingers around Barry’s wrist. As he smiles, the Lantern suit fizzles back into existence, curving lovingly around Hal like it never left. The domino is the last piece to fit into place, sweeping across Hal’s face with the grace of a painter’s brush. “See you there,” he confirms. “I wanna stretch my legs.”

God, Barry missed seeing him like this. 

“Have fun,” Barry says, dropping his hand to Hal’s shoulder to give it a squeeze. “I’ll have dinner waiting for you.”

“Oh, you’re amazing.” Hal tugs him in for a firmer kiss, one that leaves Barry’s head spinning even before he steps into the teleporter. When he pulls away, there’s a charming flush on Hal’s cheeks. 

Barry nudges his shoulder gently, and Hal takes a step back.  _ “Go,” _ he chuckles, shifting the bag higher on his shoulder. “I know you wanna get out there, Hal. Go and have fun.”

“I will.” Hal wiggles a pair of finger guns at Barry as he walks backwards. “I won’t take long, though, seriously, I promise-”

_ “Hal.” _

The doors swish open behind him. “I’ll be an hour, tops!” he laughs. He’s already glowing green at the edges, his feet lifting from the ground as he just steps into the air like he was born to do it. Barry watches as Hal twists to start back down the corridor, turning just to call “See you at home, Bar!” over his shoulder.

_ Home. _

Barry’s heart skips a beat.

He doesn’t leave right away, even though the keypad blinks at him patiently. Instead, Barry turns his gaze to the wide windows, and after a couple of minutes, a green streak races away from the Watchtower and out into space. Hal does a few loop-de-loops amongst the stars, and Barry can almost hear him whooping with joy. For a long, long moment, Barry just watches as Hal does circuits around the Watchtower, blinking past his windows and reappearing again. Barry laughs quietly to himself, delighting in Hal’s infectious joy.

After a couple more loops, Hal pauses in front of Barry with only a thick sheet of glass between them. He doesn’t look surprised to see him still there; he smiles fondly at him in his familiar, lopsided way, and then he constructs a giant checkered flag and waves it, his head cocked. 

They’ve raced home from the Watchtower before. It’s usually surprisingly close, and right now, it seems like the perfect way to celebrate. When Barry gives him a thumbs up, Hal takes off instantly, barely pausing to wave.

Barry grins, turns towards the keypad, and hits enter.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [capedcommissioner](https://capedcommissioner.tumblr.com/)!


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